


strawberries

by bleedshoney



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Boys In Love, Fluff, M/M, Reddie, a good story i promise, but its super soft so pls read, you’ll probably cry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:47:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleedshoney/pseuds/bleedshoney
Summary: Richie never really liked fruit, until he really tasted a strawberry.





	strawberries

Richie, as a child, was never really fond of fruit. Despite his love for all things sugary sweet, the idea of something being healthy and sweet turned him away. _There’s no fun in that!_ He would tell his mother who desperately tried to get him to eat fruit. Further along in his adventurous life, he would say the same thing to his friends, or at least something along the lines of that. There was seven of them, in fact. Almost all made a promise. Except one.

It started in the second grade. He had a friend, named Stan, who declared he packed the best pears in all of Derry. Stan loved his pears. _I promise they’re super good! Like so good. You might like mine better than the ones you’ve had before_. Stan was only seven, but confident in his claim. Stan told Richie that pears tasted best on a summer’s day while sitting in the park with his dad and watching for birds. Now Richie wouldn’t be able to experience the exact description, meaning that any other day would do him just fine. There was one day at lunch, nothing specific or significant to remember, where Stan offered Richie a slice of his pear. Not a minute later, Richie spit it up into the trashcan nearby. Stan was thrown into a fit of giggles. Stan said Richie was silly for not liking fruit; Stan later promised that one day he would.

Richie later met a boy named Bill. Bill was nine, yet brave and smart. Bill would stutter and ramble through his words; however, Richie could still hear Bill’s love for the peaches his mother got for him. Bill said his mom went to the very best farmers market in all of Maine every two weeks just to grab only the very best peaches for him and his brother, Georgie. _They’re the m-m-most special f-fruit. They’re suh-soft, and s-s-sweet! Muh-much better than a j-juicy, plain pear_. There was something about Bill that Richie trusted. On one Sunday afternoon, nothing specific or significant to remember, Richie had been playing tag in the backyard of the Denbrough’s home with the two brothers. Georgie was fast for his young age, but struggled to keep up. He the first boy to get tired, but Bill and Richie felt fatigue soon too. It wasn’t long until Mrs. Denbrough came outside to offer the boys a plate of sliced peaches amongst the warm, spring day. Trusting Bill, Richie tried one. He didn’t quite like it, so he spat out the chewed fruit onto the ground. Georgie laughed and laughed. Bill told him to eat more because maybe he’d grow to like them. Richie didn’t. Bill promised that one day he would.

Richie chanced upon Eddie when he was ten. Apparently Bill had been hiding Eddie from him, or at least that’s how Richie wanted to put it. Eddie was… well Eddie was different from Stan and Bill. Eddie loved strawberries, but that’s not what made him different. He was different because on one day, nothing specific or significant to remember, Eddie did not offer Richie a piece of his fruit.

“I don’t like fruit,” Richie eyed the smaller boy. Eddie was sitting criss-cross on his bed. He had a yellow bowl of full, bright red strawberries sitting in his lap. Along with the bowl of fruit, the red of Eddie’s shorts and the rainbow lining along the side were–cute? Richie was allowed to call it cute, right? Sure, why the hell not! It just looked like the perfect picture, he supposed. Maybe red was becoming his favorite color. He didn’t think about it too much.

“That’s okay,” Eddie shrugged. With a delicate hand he brought the fresh fruit to his mouth and hummed into his bite.

Richie waited for Eddie to offer him one so he could taste it, hate it, and spit it out. Eddie never did, though. He just kept them to himself.

“What’s it taste like?” Richie couldn’t help but stare at the boy next to him. The comic in his lap nearly slipping off and to the floor as he lost all focus of anything that wasn’t Eddie. Deep brown eyes magnified by glasses watched the other boy as his lips tinted a deeper shade from the dark fruit. Richie would’t dare say he looked pretty aloud.

“Love.”

Richie’s face flushed and a wave of heat rushed from his neck up to his cheeks. He wasn’t sure why. His hands went clammy and he brought his hand up to push his glasses back up his nose. “Strawberries taste like love?” His voice didn’t sound like it normally did. Stuck between high pitched confusion and an odd sense of fear. His brows furrowed and lips parted as he mindlessly leaned in. He stole a glances from the fruit and Eddie, waiting.

Eddie laughed. Richie blushed even more. “Of course not, dumby! They just taste like a… like the way a strawberry tastes!” After his laughter calmed down he shrugged and looked up from the bowl between his legs and to Richie. “I dunno… They’re just good, Rich,” Eddie said, but this time his voice was a lot softer. They were gentle and genuine, his words. And maybe if strawberries tasted the way Eddie’s voice sounded just then, Richie would never stop having them. For a moment, Richie wondered if he would like strawberries–Richie sure liked Eddie far more than Stan and Bill, so perhaps liking strawberries more than pears and peaches was a possibility. They did make a promise anyways, and those were never meant to be broken–Richie also wondered why Eddie hadn’t made a promise he would one day like them too. Then Richie couldn’t help but ponder about the fact that he didn’t ever need a promise from Eddie. Eddie was different and maybe strawberries were meant to be too.

Richie adored six year old Georgie. Although Georgie’s favorite fruit was the same as his big brothers (peaches), he couldn’t deny he loved oranges too. The thing is, Richie actually really liked orange juice. He drank it with his breakfast all the time. Sometimes right out of the carton, but that’s not the point. The point was that he _did_ like it. So Richie somewhat liked the taste of oranges. Knowing that Richie liked orange juice, Georgie had an idea. On one day, nothing specific or significant to remember, Georgie offered Richie an orange slice. And because Richie adored Georgie, Richie ate it. He ate it whole. He didn’t spit it out because he feared seeing the boys smile disappear. He didn’t like it. He felt the seeds inside the orange. He felt the chunky bits that tasted awful, too; Georgie couldn’t have properly peeled the fruit himself, so Richie was sure he chewed up some of the peel. The fruit had a strong scent and sweet yet sour citric taste. He felt that there was no balance in the flavor. Richie did his best to smile while swallowing it down. Georgie grinned bigger than ever that day because he believed he made Richie like fruit. _Billy! Bill! I did it! I made Richie like fruit!_ Bill gave his brother a small smile and assured him that he didn’t change Richie’s opinion on fruit completely. Determined, Georgie promise Richie that one day he would.

However in the fall of 1957, Richie did stop drinking orange juice. Maybe one day he could’ve liked oranges too, but he’d never know. Because he couldn’t imagine being able to bring himself to try another.

Through one eventful summer in 1967, something specific and somewhat significant to remember, Richie met a girl named Beverly, a boy named Ben, and another boy named Mike.

Beverly was thirteen years old and she loved cherries. She loved cherries enough to promise she wouldn’t smoke for an entire month if Bill could go up to that farmers market with his mother and buy her some the Maine’s finest cherries. Bill did. Beverly didn’t smoke for a month. Richie thought that cherries must really taste really good if she can make such a commitment. _I thought smoking was addictive, but cherries can be too if you eat all the best ones_. So on one day, nothing specific or significant to remember, Beverly and Richie were sitting outside her apartment on the fire escape. They had a pack of cigs and a bag of cherries. Richie ate a couple. The first one, he ate whole. The seed and all. _Well no wonder you don’t like it! You ate the seed too, shit head! Try another one, but the right way_. Richie ate another, but properly, yet he still didn’t like them. He said it was too much work to enjoy a cherry (referring to the seed in the middle). He smoked a cigarette instead. He liked it much better than any fruit he’d tried thus far. Beverly said it’d be impossible to not like a fruit his whole life, so she promised that one day he would.

Ben loved plums. He said the deep color of purple reminded him of one of his favorite books. Richie wasn’t sure how he felt about plums because they only looked like a smaller and different colored peach. He knew he didn’t like peaches, so why would he enjoy a plum? Well, Ben made it sound really good. _I imagine that kissing Beverly would taste like a plum. On the surface it may seem tart, but once you’re really into it it’s quite sweet_. Richie’s never kissed anybody. Somehow part of him knew that the plum wouldn’t taste like a kiss though. He imagined a kiss tasting… red, full, and sugar coated. Not purple or tart then sweet. So on one day, nothing specific of significant to remember, Ben gave Richie a plum. It was a rather warm summer evening at quarry. Richie, all day, couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at Eddie. He kept thinking to himself that it was because Eddie had a pair of new yellow swim trunks and the fact that he had a new, purple fanny pack to make him think of the plum he was yet to try. He couldn’t help but hold onto the fact that the plum might just taste like his friends lips; he wasn’t referring to Beverly either. He ate a plum that evening while watching Eddie’s smile. Richie chewed the fruit slowly and he really tried to enjoy it. He wanted it to taste like a kiss, but it didn’t. He spat it out into the water below the rocks. Stan slapped his shoulder. Beverly giggled. Ben knew Richie would enjoy fruit someday; Ben promised that one day he would.

Lastly, there was Mike. Mike loved the apples that his grandfather grew on the farm. They were best in September and as the time grew into the season of fall he was able to bake his apples into a variety of other foods. Richie much preferred the foods that incorporated apples rather than just have the apple alone. Mike’s family made the best apple pies, apple fritters, danishes, you name it! They could bake anything. _Everyone loves apples, Richie. Common! If you can’t like an apple, there’s no way you’re a real person_. Mike joked around with Richie. Richie would laugh and roll his eyes. He would explain he’s had plenty enough apples to know they’re nothing special and he wouldn’t even bother with them. So on one day, nothing specific of significant to remember, Mike made a bet that Richie was an alien if he didn’t like an apple. Richie ate one; he didn’t really care for it. The Losers called him an alien all day. Richie still hadn’t liked fruit. At the end of it all, Mike promised that one day he would.

Seven promises and a roller coaster of friendships later, Richie still wondered what the hell strawberries tasted like.

\----------

It was at age fourteen that Richie Tozier ended his flavor curiosity; he finally got a taste of what Eddie Kaspbrak had been going on and on about for the past four years.

However, they had to begin somewhere first. Now, Eddie and Richie were always _something_. It was a bond amongst their relationship with the Losers’ Club that always held something a little _more_. It was something, everything, or even nothing. Richie would tell himself it was just something, but deep down he had a rooted feeling in the pit of his stomach. A seed to plant the feeling of _everything_. The roots would settle in the warmth of his body and spread all throughout his being. They acted as the veins that kept him warm, but it wasn’t that deep. He just had feelings. He just felt a little too much for his friend with the strawberry stained lips. It was just a little more than something, but far off of nothing; everything was just too big of a commitment for Richie to conquer.

Richie watched Eddie. Eddie watched Stan. Stan walked away from their park bench with Ben at his side. Ben was throwing his head back in laughter and it must’ve been Stan making a witty comment because those could crack a smile in anybody. Eddie smiled at the thought. Richie smiled at Eddie.

It was just a Sunday afternoon in May. The Losers’ Club had a picnic in the park by the library. It was cheesy, but Beverly thought it was a rather cute idea. They had their red and white checkered blanket laid out upon the grass. Bill’s homemade lemonade. Mike’s lemon bars and mini key lime pies. Ben’s notebook to share kind poems. And their picnic baskets full of fruits. It was sweet, and Eddie was basking in the kindest moment he could ever ask for.

The sun dipped down and began to tuck itself away into the warm, watercolor sky. The golden rays hit Eddie’s face and Richie cracked a toothy smile, exposing his crooked teeth, as he watched the prettiest boy in Derry illuminate in a honey glow. The early Summer’s warmth caused Eddie’s cheeks to tint red and dry. His freckles began to bloom. His skin began to tan. His hair began to lighten. Richie thought of Eddie as the sun. Angry yet warm; Scary yet comforting. A lot more too. But most of all, necessary.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Eddie stared back at Richie in confusion. “Do I have berries left over in between my teeth?” Richie didn’t reply right away and Eddie’s cheeks flushed a deeper pigment. He nervously dug his hand into his basket, a light brown woven one with his name embroidered in deep red lettering on the side, to pull out a strawberry. He ate it in hopes to draw Richie’s attention away, but failed.

Richie watched Eddie’s teeth sink into the fruit. He watched him hum into the taste, lick his lips, and bite again. He hated how the red juice would drip over his lip then to his chin. He wanted nothing more than to get rid of it himself, or maybe just taste it too.

Richie didn’t do a lot of thinking. He was always an action kind of kid. So he did.

Richie squeezed his eyes shut and surged forward to plant his lips right onto Eddie’s. Or at least land somewhere close to them. Richie ended up missing them, his lips only on the bottom corner of Eddie’s lips and mostly his chin. The moment of lips to skin was short and chaste. He was too scared to pull back and wait for Eddie’s reaction, so he tried again. Different this time, though.

Richie reached up and cupped Eddie’s face in his thin fingers. He held the boy close and moved up so he could actually kiss him. He did. _He_ kissed him. He _kissed_ him. He kissed _him_.

 _And it tasted so fucking good_.

Their lips brushed past one another’s. The feeling of a swarm of butterflies was an understatement because Richie felt the entire world erupted inside of him. He was slow, soft, and uncertain. Richie didn’t know the first thing about kissing, but if it was whatever he was doing was right then holy fuck could he do it forever. It was good, but cautious. It was gentle and kind despite being new and unknown. It was _everything_.

Their hearts were skipping beats. Their abdomens were aching. Their breaths were staggered. They felt like they normally did whenever they shared gentle touches or lingering looks, but this was all so much _more_. It was dizzy and lightheaded. It was like spinning in the clouds. It didn’t feel real. Real was never _this_ good.

Richie pulled back the slightest and rested his forehead against Eddie’s. He held the biggest shit-eating grin upon his lips too. “I’m sorry, but I wanted to do that for the longest time.”

“Then why now?” Eddie couldn’t even hold the eye content; he was too flustered. His smile made his cheeks ache. His skin was rushed with warmth all over. He didn’t even notice the basket of strawberries fall from his lap because his mind was _Richie Richie Richie_.

“Couldn’t live another day without a taste,” Richie winked and leaned in to brush his lips against Eddie’s once more.

Eddie laughed and gave the raven haired boy a quick peck. “That’s the gayest shit you ever said, Trashmouth.”

“Says the boy who said strawberries tasted like love.”

“Well did they?”

Richie thought it over for a moment. Had it been naivety in his lack of exploration and experience, or his heart’s honest and utter desire? He didn’t know. “I-,” Richie glanced down to Eddie’s lips, “I don’t like fruit.”

Eddie didn’t expect Richie to answer. Richie wasn’t much of a feelings person and Eddie was okay with that. He changed the subject to remain lighthearted. “But you like me?”

“I like you. Of course, Eds.” (“Don’t call me that!”) Richie chuckled as he earned himself a smack to the arm. “Another kiss?”

“Kiss or a taste? You’re allowed to like fruit, Rich.”

“Just a kiss.” Richie lied.

Richie and Eddie kissed for the rest of the afternoon on that park bench. They kissed until there wasn’t anything left to taste. Richie was sure to savor as much as he could because a part of him was scared he’d forget. Scared he would only like fruit for a moment. Scared this would be the closest thing he ever got to liking something that all the Losers liked too.

Walking home, Richie bit and licked over his own lips. He tried to recall every detail of Eddie against his own. He tried to linger every touch and every taste. He knew it was sweet and soft. It was sugary and it was light. It was warm and it was comfortable. It was _everything_. And maybe it was something like love too. He wasn’t sure.

Unfortunately, in the end, it was just another day, nothing specific of significant to remember.

\----------

A week later Richie couldn’t bare being unable to not kiss Eddie in front of the Losers or out in public. Stealing kisses in the boys bathroom, behind trees, or hidden in the woods wasn’t enough. Richie wanted to taste it all. Strawberries and all.

“Ma! You gotta run to the store and pick up some strawberries! The biggest sized pack they come in, please!”

“Richard… I thought you hated fruit?”

“I-I do? Maybe, I’m figuring it out, but please can you go get some for me?”

Maggie Tozier ran to the store after dinner and returned home with a pack of strawberries for her son.

Richie ate the whole pack before the clock could strike 12 am and Richie stayed home from school the next day because he wasn’t feeling well.

His mother bought him more, but he promised himself he would savor it next time.

He did.

\----------

They were swinging in the hammock outside Eddie’s backyard. They laid side by side and facing one another. It was between the shared kisses, giggles, and summer breeze that they found _something_.

“My Ma said she’d take us on a real date,” Richie pulled back from Eddie’s lips, wearing a shy smile.

“Really?” Eddie’s fingers carded through Richie’s dark hair. He smiled as his crush leaned up into his touch. “Where?”

“She said she’d take us to the berry farm. We could go strawberry picking.”

Eddie’s hand stopped around Richie’s cheek. He tucked the loose, long, dark hair behind Richie’s ear. His small thumb ran over the boy’s lightly sun burned cheek. “You don’t like fruit,” Eddie mumbled.

Richie turned his head and pressed his lips into the palm of Eddie’s hand. “I like you. And you love strawberries so I figured—”

Eddie kissed him. Eddie tasted like strawberries, and so did Richie. Although Eddie had mistaken it for himself, so he brushed it off. Richie wouldn’t admit that he had his fair share of red berries before running off to go see his crush. No, because Richie wasn’t supposed to like fruit.

\----------

“Would you ever want a strawberry wedding cake?”

“We’re seventeen, why are you concerned about my choice of wedding cake flavor.” Eddie laughed and rolled over in the bed. His bare chest was pressed against Richie’s bare back. They were both tired from actions other took place moments before, but Richie’s mouth truly didn’t ever stop.

“Strawberry cake doesn’t sound bad, does it?” Richie closed his eyes and interlocked his fingers with Eddie’s. Eddie’s arm was secure around Richie’s waist, just like it should always be.

“I get it, Richie.” Eddie pressed his lips to Richie’s shoulder blade. “I like strawberries, but not everything has to be that flavor.” Eddie thought of all the candies, cupcakes, icing, and so on that Richie had gotten him in the past.

“But you like it.”

“Yeah… you’re lucky I like you too.”

“So lucky.”

Richie laid in Eddie’s sweet, berry scented bed. He closed his eyes and he held his boyfriend’s hand. He held on like it was all he had left because maybe some day it would be all he had left. He was scared and he was unsure, so hoping was the best he could do. He hoped that the scent, the touch, the sound, the taste, and the memory would last him long enough for— _something_.

Unfortunately, in the end, it was just another day, nothing specific of significant to remember.

\----------

Richie leaves Derry at the age of nineteen and it’s one of the hardest things he ever had to do. He doesn’t yet realize why because the second his plane landed down in California it was like there wasn’t even a challenge to remember. So maybe it was the easiest thing he’d ever done. He wasn’t sure anymore.

From what he does remember, it was red. It was soft. It was sweet. It was summer. It was a hammock. It was a farm. It was laying in bed. He had mistaken it all for nostalgia and brushed it behind him. He had a new life now.

Richie attended a drama school.

Richie went to college parties. He never realized how much kisses tasted better when they tasted like strawberry lip gloss or chapstick. Luckily the girls at the parties were all the same, so they all tasted sweet and cheap. He didn’t mind because it felt a bit like nostalgia.

Richie began to work in comedy, film, and on the radio.

Richie went to real, adult parties. He ignored the fact that he’d much rather kiss people at the bar who had just finished a strawberry flavored drink. He told himself it’s because he missed feeling young and this aided him in feeling nostalgic. If only he had an excuse for being lonely at night too.

Richie didn’t know it, but he was always searching for that _something_. He had it a couple times; he was sure of it. He craved it so badly to just have it again, even if it was for one last time. He needed it. He would get it. Even if it was just on one day, nothing specific or significant to remember.

\----------

The summer of 1985 was the year Richie swore he _hated_ strawberries.

It started off with a phone call. The name of the man was distant, but familiar. He had that deep rooted pit feeling in his stomach all over again and he if he rested his eyes too long he could see the farm and the aligned apple trees.

It lead to a flight to his home town, Derry.

It caused faint memories to flash in his head like a static television in the middle of a storm. It was half there, and choppy. He didn’t know what was right or wrong. He didn’t try too think about it too much. He tried not the taste the red and sweet hint that rested on his tongue either.

It made his heart ache like the feeling of the pit seed in his stomach, but ten times worse because he saw him again.

Edward. Eddie. Eds. It was him! _Him him him! Eds Eds Eds!_

And then _everything_ returned.

Richie couldn’t believe that he had forgotten about him, or any of them. He didn’t remember their memories fading. Maybe they disappeared all together the moment he left. He wasn’t sure. Either way, it all hurt the same.

Richie and Eddie spent the little time they had together before _It_ while they could. They hung out at the park bench. They walked along he roads of their childhood neighborhoods. They took a visit to the quarry. They passed by the kissing bridge. They went to their favorite diner. They saw a film at the Aladdin. They spent a night together. And then they talked. They talk about: what flavor Eddie and Myra’s wedding cake was and how it wasn’t strawberry, talked about how Richie never found someone to settle down with, talked about their different lives across the country, and talked about how they managed to forget everything involving each other. They talked about staying together and restarting, too. Talked about never having to forget again if they just stayed together.

It felt like a dream and Richie wished it all only was a dream.

Maybe the rest of it was a dream because it was all sort of foggy after that day. He couldn’t remember how he got there, in the sewers. He wanted it all to be a bad dream like the ones he had in the past. He couldn’t bare to see Eddie’s life drain from his face as the red poured out of him.

“Eds, no please. We’re going to get you out of here. T-there are strawberries to eat, to pick, to plant, and to share.” Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie but he was shaking too much to pick him up.

“There _were_ strawberries, Rich. Not anymore.” Eddie allowed his own body to rest against the ground. It was all dirty and Richie didn’t understand why Eddie now chose to be so relaxed. This wasn’t the right moment; it shouldn’t be. It never should have been.

“Eds, did you know I always liked strawberries? I swear it. I did. I still do.”

“Richie,” he whispered.

“What?” Richie was down on his hands and knees, staring at him desperately.

“Don’t call me Eds,” he said, and smiled. He raised his left hand slowly and touched Richie’s cheek. Richie was crying. “You know I… I…” Eddie closed his eyes and thinking how to finish, and while he was still thinking it over he died.

Richie Tozier wanted to hate strawberries. He didn’t want to just not like them, but he wanted to _hate hate hate_ them.

It broke his heart to watch a lie die out. Why had so many people promised him a lie?

They all promised he’d like fruit one day, but they never promised he’d love fruit one day. Eddie never promised Richie that he would _love_ strawberries. No. But then again, Richie couldn’t help but wonder about the fact that he didn’t ever needed a promise from Eddie. Because Eddie was different and maybe strawberries were always meant to be too.

Richie promised himself for the next day that he wouldn’t forget. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget the color red or the sweetness of it all. He didn’t ever want to have Eddie and those damn strawberries leave his mind ever again. He wished he could hold onto it. But life isn’t a wish granting factory. If it had been, Eddie would still be here and he wouldn’t want to hate any fruit at all.

Unfortunately, in the end, it was just another day, nothing specific of significant to remember.

\----------

It was December of 1985 and he should’ve been getting ready to go to his friend’s Christmas party. It was a man he was working on a film with; a co-star. He was of short stature and bundled energy. His hair was brown but blonde in the summer. The colors changed just as the freckles came. People back home could say he looked an awful lot like a boy named Edward, but Richie wouldn’t know who they were talking about. Instead, he let it all feel too familiar. He let the feeling of a deep rooted pit in his stomach sit for too long.

When he asked if he preferred chocolate or strawberry cake for the party dessert Richie struggling with the answer. He wanted to say strawberry, and he didn’t know the hell why. He always hated it. He swore he never even liked the thought of it, but the crush of his heart said otherwise.

Unable to let the feeling grow inside of him, he decided to put the feelings onto paper. He felt wrong and it pained him to release the hidden honesty.

So on that day, nothing specific or significant to remember, Richie found himself writing.

_I hate strawberries and I can’t remember why. There’s a reason and I can’t fucking remember. I think you’re the reason. Who is unsure, but I know it’s somebody. So to whoever I’m writing for, I’m sorry. I can’t help but feel it’s my fault. I think I could’ve saved you, though. I wish I could’ve saved you. I wish I could’ve saved you the way fertilizer saves the fruits as aid in growth. I wish I could’ve savored the taste of the last strawberry my tongue touched, knowing it’d be my last. I wish I remembered you. I’ve tasted them before--you before too--but it’s all a faded memory. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat them again. ~~Because a part of me knows that I lov-~~_

Richie scratched the line out. He sighed in frustration and held his head in his hands as he read over the sloppy written note. He stared for a while before writing again.

_Please forgive me the way the fruits forgive the sun after days of heavy rain. Please forgive me. Forgive my forgetful mind for losing the memories you planted. Please._

Richie didn’t know who he was writing to, but maybe if he was lucky, on a day specific and significant to remember, he’d know. He would remember, even if it was his final thought before his death. At least he had a hope of one day, maybe, knowing.

His hand began to shake and his eyes pricked with tears. He somehow managed to write the last sentence.

_I loved strawberries, and I think I loved you too._

Richie, as an adult, was never really fond of fruit. Except one.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u liked it !! & im sorry if formatting isn't the best bc im still getting used to this site  
> u can find me @babyeds on tumblr if u'd like :')


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